6. Cal
Chapter six
Cal
My hand stung as I threw another punch at the punching bag, sweat dripping into my eyes.
Last month at Greyson and Paisley’s vow renewal, Ruby had cornered me, begging me with those puppy dog eyes to help her out with a strangers’ couple shoot.
Because I was a softy for the Shepherd girls and Ruby had always been a little sister to me, I’d fallen for her act with the swiftness of an avalanche.
And look where it got me? Holding the woman of my dreams in my arms for an hour this afternoon, trying to remember how much she’d hurt me.
Hard to do when she smelled like a tropical vacation and fit against me perfectly.
Noelle had been stiff, but she’d relaxed eventually.
Then the lines started to blur. We’d bantered.
She’d laughed at my jokes. And I’d tried to scrounge up the anger that had consumed me back then, but it wasn’t easy.
Instead, old memories of us played over and over in my mind, and something like relief spread through my chest.
Noelle wasn’t married like I’d always wondered. And she was home. To stay.
It was simultaneously the best day of my life and pure torture.
I’d had over a decade to work through my complicated feelings, and I had. But seeing her outside my dreams and memories, holding her . . . It did things to me.
Hence, the punching bag.
And she really didn’t look me up all these years? I’d enlisted Myles—the king of social media hating—to help me find her only a few months after she left.
I wasn’t self-centered, but Noelle not knowing about Izzy threw me. It’d been all over the news four years ago.
Cal Satterfield’s Wife Found Dead in Their Home of an Overdose.
Everyone had opinions. Everyone had questions.
I know I did.
Izzy’s postpartum depression had settled in fast after Khia was born, and I’d tried to get her the help she needed.
She’d promised me she was doing better. She was connecting with other WAGs and spending time with her best friend.
Later, I learned that was a cover for cheating on me with a teammate.
But even then, I hadn’t expected that.
I was reeling from the notoriety and the questions. The breaking pressure of being thrust into single fatherhood. Angry she’d endangered our child like that. Angry at myself for not noticing the signs.
Finally, I’d snapped. We were in Chicago playing against the Blackhawks, and Justin, the teammate my wife had been involved with, was railing against me. And I lost it.
He blamed me for her death. As if I didn’t blame myself.
That fight turned into a suspension, and I was whisked down from Seattle to the minor leagues with a “this is for your own good” pat on the shoulder.
They’d trussed the decision up in nice packaging about it being better for me to be out of the spotlight for a while so I could heal and raise my little girl. But I knew the truth—I messed up.
And I’d been here ever since.
“Daddy?” Khia’s soft voice called from the open door of the garage after I threw another punch.
Chest heaving, I dropped my stance and turned towards her, removing my gloves. “Yeah, Lovebug?”
She eyed my rumpled appearance, her nose scrunching. “You’re sweaty.”
“And you need a hug.” I charged towards her, and she shrieked, darting across the lawn towards the house.
I caught up to her in three strides and swung her up in my arms, tickling her and nudging my nose against her neck. Her pealing laughter echoed in the darkness.
Lugging her into the house, I set her on the kitchen island counter and crossed my arms. “And why aren’t you in bed?
” We’d done our bedtime routine an hour before, and she usually went down like a champ, especially since she’d had a sleepover at my parents’ last night and spent the day with them.
Nothing tired her out like a day with Meemaw and Pops.
“Can Miss Noelle come over for dinner?” Khia’s guileless blue eyes pleaded with me, completely bypassing the matter at hand.
Between dinner, bath time, and bedtime, I’d listened to Khia sing Noelle’s praises—Miss Noelle this and Miss Noelle that. She’d only spent fifteen minutes with the woman, tops. But Noelle had that effect on people. One encounter with her left you wanting more.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
It was, in fact, a terrible idea. Noelle and her tropical goodness in my space? I’d never recover.
“But, Daddy, I looooooove her!”
You and me both, kiddo.
What? No. Not love.
Keep telling yourself that. That sounded decidedly like Greyson.
Shut it. The number of mental conversations I had with him was frankly ridiculous. And he said we didn’t have twin telepathy. Pff.
Noelle, for all her organized and no-nonsense energy, was easy to love. Or at least she had been. I’d gotten a front-row seat to just how big her heart was. The way she showed up for others without complaining. How well she helped out with her younger sisters.
My gut churned. Maybe that was part of the problem.
Noelle was a giver, but did anyone ever give back to her?
I’d like to say yes, that I’d taken care of her, but I’d been a punk kid at nineteen, head over heels in love and riding the high of getting drafted into the NHL.
Maybe our breakup was more my fault than I’d been willing to admit back then.
Time and hindsight turned us all into wise old sages.
And made us realize we were all fools in love.
Maybe you’re finally listening.
Her words haunted me. How much had I missed?
“Can I go see her tonight?” Khia begged, pulling me out of my musings and back into the present.
I frowned. “It’s time for bed.”
“She’s just outside,” Khia wheedled.
What? “Lovebug, she’s staying with Miss Ruby.”
“Nuh-uh. She’s in the cottage.”
My blood froze. Ruby had told me she had a friend coming to town who needed a place to stay, and I’d agreed.
But she’d never said who that friend was.
Saying yes to Ruby was officially a detriment to my health.
I made a mental note, complete with neon lettering, to say no to her next time.
“Miss Noelle . . . is in the cottage? Our cottage?”
Khia nodded vigorously, curls bouncing. “Can I go see her?”
“Not tonight. I’m sure you’ll see her again soon.” It was a small town. Kinda hard to hide in. I scooped Khia up from the counter. “Now, time for bed. Princesses need their beauty sleep.”
She giggled, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Then you need extra sleep, Daddy.”
I barked a laugh and jogged up the stairs to tuck her into the pink canopy bed.
Once the covers were arranged, I’d read two more stories, and Mr. Snuggles, her stuffed shark, was found, I kissed her forehead and flicked out the lights.
Soft Vivaldi music, her favourite, wafted through the room. “Good night, sweetie. I love you.”
Khia yawned. “Love you.”
Slipping from the room, I strolled back downstairs to the kitchen. Noelle Shepherd was not only back in town. She was on my property at this very minute and was my new tenant.
I glanced at the clock. It was only eight thirty. Too late for a house call? Probably. And what was I going to do? March over there and kick her out? Of course not. Ask her about New York? Tempting. But I’d had enough Noelle exposure for the day.
Still I needed answers. Pulling out my phone, I shot a message to Ruby.
ME:
Ruby Jane Shepherd, is Noelle living in the cottage?
RUBY:
What? That would be totally insane.
The stinker. I hit the call button.
“Whoa, boomer, phone calls are for emergencies only!” Ruby groused when she picked up on the third ring.
“Yeah, well, I’d say having my former fiancée living three hundred feet from my house without my knowledge equals an emergency.”
She heaved a sigh, like I was the difficult one in this scenario. “Look, I’m sorry. Actually, I’m not. But if an apology makes you feel better, I’ll give you one.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why, Ruby?”
She didn’t answer right away. In fact, it was long enough to make me check that she hadn’t hung up on me. Which wouldn’t have been the first time.
“Rubes?”
“I’m worried about her, okay?” Ruby whispered. “I knew she wasn’t thrilled about rooming with me because it would be weird to have her move into the family house. Not that she said that exactly, but I’m not as dumb as I look. And . . . she has a cane, Cal.”
“What?” I’d seen Noelle walk across the field during the photo shoot no problem. Although, now that I thought about it, she had been unsteady on her feet. What had she said? She was in a car accident. She relearned how to walk. My gut churned at the thought of her hurt and in pain.
Was she okay? Was the cabin accessible enough for her? I should check on her.
“When she arrived yesterday, she was using a cane. I don’t know what’s wrong. And look, I don’t know everything that happened all those years ago, but sue me for wanting you and my sister to be happy.”
I reined in my rapid-fire thoughts. “It was a long time ago.”
Ruby sighed again. “Just . . . go easy on her, okay? I’ve never seen Noelle fragile before, and she’d kill me if she heard me say that, but I think something happened to her in New York.”
My heart clenched, concocting a number of scenarios and hating all of them. “I won’t break her, Ruby. But no more matchmaking, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered.
After a strained goodbye, I locked up for the night and headed to my room. Ruby had a good heart; she also had the habit of meddling. Pretty sure that was a side effect of living in Serenity Springs. We were all born with the inherent need to meddle—it was part of our heritage.
I paused at the window. Across the lawn and down the sloping driveway, warm lights winked from the cottage windows.
Noelle. On my property.
My fingers twitched with the overwhelming desire to text her. But I didn’t have her number. Not her new one.
I brushed aside the urge to pull up screenshots of our old texts I’d never had the heart to delete. After she’d left, I’d texted every day for a week, begging her to return my calls.
Then the day came when I finally got a response. My heart pounded with excitement.
This isn’t Noelle’s number. Sorry, man. Good luck.
There was nothing quite like pouring your heart to a stranger over text and voicemail.
I took the message for what it was. Goodbye.
Giving myself a mental shake, I snapped the new blackout curtains I’d ordered express-shipping on Saturday shut and stretched out in the middle of the king bed, which felt entirely too big tonight.
I opened my laptop. Usually, I rewatched highlights and old games to improve my performance.
But tonight, I wasn’t in the mood for self-betterment and clicked on an episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show, settling back against the pillows.
I lost count of how many times Noelle and I laughed over this show. I’d never loved it as much as she did, but I loved watching the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. So I watched it . . . because I loved her.
Now it was the show I watched when I pathetically wanted to go back to the future we never got.